


Memento

by SilverKitsune



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Happy Holidays Everyone!, M/M, Sormik Advent Calendar 2017, bittersweet with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 06:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13140549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverKitsune/pseuds/SilverKitsune
Summary: Centuries.  It was so easy to promise and do what was necessary then.  But the actual waiting . . . that, that was another matter altogether.Written for Sormik Advent Calendar 2017 Day 25: Snow.





	Memento

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to FlareLunari and SkiaWolf for inviting me to participate in this year's Advent Calendar! This was a really good prompt to work with, and I really enjoyed writing it. It has been an honor participating in this, especially alongside all the other wonderful writers that have already posted their work!
> 
> Shoutout to Kokoai for beta reading part of this for me and helping me make this even better than I had originally written it. What would I ever do without you giving me extra ideas to work with?
> 
> The song lyrics I quote are out of [Within Temptations' Memories](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bhzJO34SCoc), which believe it or not, I discovered _after_ I'd written the story. The lyrics for the bridge fit so well I just had to include them to set the mood!

_Together in all these memories_  
_I see your smile_  
_All the memories I hold dear_  
_Darling, you know I love you_  
_Till the end of time_

~ Memories, Within Temptation

* * *

Mikleo walked into the eerily silent ruins and examined his surroundings. Crumbled foundations of buildings were arranged into neat rows, but in his mind's eye he could envision this town as it once was – a bustling port town filled with merchants and sailors alike. The layout of the town didn't seem like anything out of the ordinary – in fact, it seemed very similar to the ruins he'd explored from this era.

He walked through on the remnants of the streets - centuries of exposure to wind and snow had left only the barest traces of stone on the sides, and the crunching echo of his boot steps in the snow and the whistling of the frozen wind were the only sounds in the ruins. He paused, pulling up the hood of his coat, thankful for both the protection it afforded, and the merchant's resonance. Master of all things water and ice he might be, but he could do little to control the wind, and it was simply easier to find reprieve in heavy clothing than to constantly expend mana to keep snow and ice crystals from whipping past him on the frigid winter winds.

The foundation of a large building near what he assumed was the town square made him pause, and as he turned to examine the remains of the entryway, the wind gusted, and he caught a flash of movement in his peripheral vision as the hood blew off of his head. Instinctively, he turned to his right, mouth open to voice his initial thoughts and observations -

Only to find no one was there.

“Right,” he muttered to himself as he pulled the hood up once more. _He_ was asleep, purifying Maotelus as they'd planned. It was, as they'd both agreed so long ago on a clear starry night, a necessary sacrifice. One that was for the sake of the world, one that would bring forth a stronger and better future.

And it would be fine, for he was a seraph, and he had all the time in the world.

Except . . . he just had cling to those memories a little tighter, he kept telling himself. Hold onto the way those feathered earrings would flutter with the exuberance of _his_ smile, remember the way _his_ green eyes sparkled every time they walked into a ruin or read a new book, and-

He shook his head, clearing his head out of his thoughts. He was on a journey, in an unfamiliar place, and he needed to be on guard, not get lost in memories of the past, of a life put on hold for when _he_ would wake up.

He entered the crumbling remains of the building, examining collapsed pews and altars alike, carefully rubbing charcoal copies of what remained of carvings, many of which seemed to match the crest for the elusive Great Seraphim Lord known as Innominat. Looking around, he could see how this place had once been arranged into a grand place of worship, the central room organized much like the inner sanctum tucked behind the lobby of the Pendrago Shrinechurch. His heart ached at the memory of the first time he'd seen it with _him_ , of the danger they'd faced at the hands of Cardinal Forton, of meeting Morgrim for the first time . . .

. . . and tried to ignore how he could barely recall the sound of _his_ elated praise as they escaped from certain death.

He carefully stowed away his tools into his pack, and continued to explore the town. The rest of the buildings had long since collapsed, and the only object he could identify within them was the metal remnants of a forge indicating its last use during an age long since lost to the sands of time. Still, he pushed ever onward, there was a place he needed to get to, no matter how hard the journey was.

* * *

_“It's not easy,” Zaveid said as they stood at the fork of the path. They had run into each other at Lohgrin, the town long since recovered from the hellion attacks during that fateful journey, so long ago._

_Mikleo avoided the question, and used his hand to shield his face from his shoulder length hair and the winds that whipped through the moor as he continued to watch caravans come and go from the town's entrance. The remnants of the ancient tower loomed in the background._

_“It gets easier, you know,” Zaveid continued, “with time, that is. Until all you're left with in the end is a name and the feelings it reminds you of. And a physical memento, if you're lucky.”_

_Mikleo clenched his fists, knowing full well what Zaveid was trying to do, but he_ hadn't _wanted it to get easier, hadn't wanted to forget –_ he _wasn't_ dead _, just . . . just_ gone _for a little while. He still remembered the tenor of_ his _voice, the particular shade of green of his eyes, and the sound of_ his _laughter, all he had to do was just close his eyes and concentrate._

_At least, that's what he kept telling himself._

_Zaveid clapped a hand on his shoulder, “But I know that's not what you want to hear from an old Seraph like me. So I'll tell you this instead: You know how Iris Gems are made, but not where they come from. Up north, there's a volcano. Mt. Killaraus, they called it. It's a life spring.”_

_Mikleo put the pieces together, and turned back to look at Zaveid._

_“Why are you telling me this?”_

_“Because when you're a long-lived Seraph like me, you learn to find ways to remember.”_

* * *

It had taken him past the ruins of a town, most likely built around a natural hot spring, a partially collapsed cave, and through another treacherous ice field, but he'd finally made it. For a place as significant as Zaveid had made it sound, it was quiet. Peaceful, even.

Snow drifted all around him, the bright red of the magma far below illuminating the crater far below. Ash and smoke billowed up, taking with it the unbearable heat from below. But even more than that, he could feel the mana welling up, reaching high into the sky above him to spread around the world.

The wind gusted, pushing back his hood, blowing his hair into his face, and he had to raise a hand to shield his eyes. An object hitting his foot caught his attention, and as he lowered his hand, he caught sight of it: an Iris Gem. He bent down to pick it up, only to-

_“Wow . . . Look at all those stars.”_

Mikleo paused, his mind scrambling to recognize the voice even as he placed the words in his memory – had he always sounded like that? There was a gentleness in _his_ voice that he'd forgotten, a warmth there that wasn't always present in his memories, and the exact pitch . . . and then he choked back a sob as he recommitted that voice to memory. He spun around, eyes wide as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him – himself, as he looked several centuries ago, and . . . and . . .

And there _he_ stood, casually leaning back against the railing, voice awash in wonder as they gazed up at the night sky. His vision blurred as an unfelt wind made those Elysialark feather earrings flutter, and for the first time in well over two centuries, he let his eyes follow the curlicues that were embroidered into the cloak that announced _his_ status as the Shepherd.

_“I forget who said it. That there are as many emotions as stars in the sky.”_

And those very stars were all that kept him company some nights, as time slowly wore away at the memories, if he were to be honest with himself – first of _his_ voice, then of the particular shade of green of _his_ eyes, the brown of _his_ hair . . . he could vaguely recall the specifics now, but sometimes the emotions and memories those stars would stir up would be enough to keep him moving forward for yet another day, until those days turned to months, those months to years, and those years to decades, then centuries . . .

_“I was really excited back then. It gave me hope that one day other humans might be able to talk to the seraphim.”_

“And they do,” he murmured, thinking of the merchant that had sold him his coat.

Mikleo sank down to his knees, his tears overflowing even as the memory continued to play, heedless of his emotional turmoil. His mind supplied the very words that were spoken, but hearing his voice, seeing his smile that night – how had his younger self ever missed seeing the emotions in those eyes that night when they stood there and talked so long ago?

The sound of their shared laughter filled the night air, clear as the bells Lastonbell was named for, and Mikleo closed his eyes even as tears continued to fall, his ears drinking it all in even as he tried to commit the sound memory once more. There was nothing more he'd missed during these past few centuries, and to hear it once more, even within the limited confines of an Iris Gem – this was more than he could ever ask for.

_“My dream will live on, so long as I don't forget.”_

“I'll hold you to that, Sorey.”

_“Thank you, Mikleo.”_

“You don't need to thank me,” Mikleo replied as the memory faded to white.

He opened his eyes, and found himself standing right where he had been before he picked up the Iris Gem, the sun now lower in the sky. He carefully pulled out a velvet pouch from his travel bag, and gingerly placed the Iris Gem inside before clasping the treasure to his chest. Whether it was a miracle or sheer coincidence, it didn't matter.

He'd make it.

* * *

“Wow, this place is amazing, Mikleo!” Sorey shouted as they entered the clearing. Sorey spun around, whipping his long blond and green-tipped ponytail around him.

Mikleo grinned - five centuries, and the place hardly changed. He supposed given the nearly sacred nature of the place, it was to be expected. The last time he had been here had been to help set up a museum documenting the local history as humans and seraphim alike began moving back into the area. It was, truthfully, amazing what seraphic artes and human ingenuity could accomplish.

And just like that first time, so long ago, the snow fields were glowing blue with the reflected light of the moon, with the caldera glowing bright red – it was like time had barely moved on at all.

Except it had, because Sorey was here to share it with him.

Sorey eagerly pulled out his phone, and began doing a slow pan of the scenery all around them, taking care to include the glowing red caldera of the volcano nearby. His shot completed, he wind stepped over to Mikleo, kicking up a flurry of snow all around them.

“Selfie for the blog?” he asked as he looped his arm over Mikleo's shoulder.

Mikleo closed his eyes, memorizing the feeling of Sorey being so close to him again. Even through their heavy coats, being able to feel Sorey's arm around him, being able to feel Sorey's warm cheek on his forehead instead of trying to recreate it from his fuzzy memories – it was more than he'd dared to dream of on some nights.

“Better make it a good one then!”

“Hey, all of my selfies are good!”

And as Sorey clicked the button for the picture, Mikleo turned and gave him a peck on the cheek.

Looking at the picture afterward, with the snow filtering down around them with Sorey's flushed cheeks and surprised expression perfectly captured on camera, Mikleo smiled. Seven centuries of living and exploring had taken him to many places and seen many priceless artifacts, but this photograph was easily the most valuable thing he'd ever seen.

It was a memento of the first stop their grand journey around Glenwood.

“What do you think?” Sorey asked, blush still high on his cheeks as he turned to Mikleo.

“I think that's the perfect picture for the start of the post.”


End file.
